Useful Skills
by EOlivet
Summary: Post S2, Mary and Matthew discuss efficiency, the language of the army and ancient romantic customs. At dinner. No spoilers.


Disclaimer: The characters described herein are the property of Julian Fellowes and ITV. No copyright infringement is intended.

Timeline: Post S2.

Acknowledgments: To OrangeShipper, Silvestria and my sister for liking this enough to think maybe I should post it here. And to Ken Follett and…the narrator of the abridged audiobook version of Fall of Giants , as well as Texts from Last Night for the inspiration (and two lines).

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><p>It was a dreadfully boring dinner.<p>

"What a dreadfully boring dinner," Matthew had leaned over and whispered in her ear – almost as if he could read her thoughts. She'd offered him a subtle smile and a serenely emphatic nod. Talking to him these days felt like pieces of a puzzle she was putting back together – trying to remember how their relationship had been…before.

But this felt pleasantly familiar. Almost…normal. Another formal dinner, another not altogether wanted guest. Another excuse for the two of them to be seated next to one another - albeit for the first time in a long while.

At least, Mary thought, glancing down at the other end of the table, she was not expected to marry this one. As for the man sitting next to her at dinner, however…but she couldn't possibly think upon that now.

She placidly sipped her glass of wine, trying not to tune out what their guest was saying. But somehow, it seemed better – more tolerable – with Matthew by her side. After a moment, she glanced over at him, catching his eyes again.

He leaned towards her, his voice discreetly finding her ear once again. "Who is this fellow and why is he such a tedious speaker?"

It was impossible to suppress a slight grin, and she covered it by quietly clearing her throat. The joke sprang into her mind almost immediately, but she wondered if it was too soon for such humor. Still, somehow merely glancing at Matthew seemed to make all the years and history and the past melt away. "Careful," she warned teasingly under her breath, waiting until he'd raised his glass to his lips for a drink. "Knowing how Mama operates, you may be referring to my future husband."

At this, Matthew seemed to choke on his wine, coughing slightly, and she had to hide her smile by pretending to dab at her mouth with a napkin. A few heads turned in their direction, but Mary covered with her most innocent smile, and the conversation soon resumed once again.

Her smile widened into a smirk as she observed him trying to collect himself out of the corner of her eye. "So, is your mother actually going to wait for him to propose to you?" he asked, his breath dancing hotly against her ear. "Or will he merely carry you out of the house over his shoulder like a naughty schoolgirl?"

This time, it was Mary's turn to cough slightly – the description not exactly conjuring images of their guest. "Matthew!" she hissed at him. But she stopped short of asking him to stop. Two could play at this game. "Of course not. There will be a wedding, of course – we're not barbarians running about in loincloths!"

She'd chosen her words carefully, and it had paid off – as he quickly gulped down some more of his drink. "Of course – though I do think a loincloth would offer a bit more post-wedding…_efficiency._"

Luckily, they were then interrupted by a strategically offered bowl of fruit. Mary lowered her head as she placed some grapes on her plate, her cheeks not yet having cooled from these utterly scandalous, highly inappropriate (but frustratingly far more interesting) insinuations.

Stabbing a grape with her fork, she brought it to her lips thoughtfully before turning her head sharply to the side and softly commenting, "_Efficiency_ on a wedding night…I daresay, I pity your poor bride."

He shot her a glance, and she slid the fork into her mouth, thoughtfully consuming the grape in triumph. She removed a second grape, and attempted to eat that one as well, but she could still feel his eyes upon her – he hadn't stopped looking at her – and her fingers slipped, the grape falling to her plate.

Everyone else was still far too engaged in their own affairs to notice. Everyone except Matthew, of course, who took this opportunity to shift slightly closer towards her and whisper, "Perhaps you'd like them fed to you."

Her mouth dropped open for a moment before she quickly snapped, "Well, that certainly would be _efficient_," Picking up the offending grape, she popped it into her mouth, determined not to meet his eyes again as she ate. But when she was finished, she couldn't resist tilting her head as she remarked, "Loincloths and grape-feeding, Matthew – there's old-fashioned, and then there's downright ancient."

"Ancient, you say?" he murmured, without missing a beat, as she picked up her glass. "Then perhaps you wouldn't care to know the manner in which I'd prefer to consume this wine."

As if scripted by some playwright with a horrible sense of irony, her fingers shook slightly as she set the glass back on the table, and some of the wine splashed out the side, staining the front of her gown.

This went largely unnoticed by the majority of the party – only a few brief glances in their direction (Edith had already taken note and was gossiping to the gentleman seated next to her).

Mary stared straight ahead, not daring to meet Matthew's eyes. "I don't suppose you'd care to lick it off now," she suggested through her gritted teeth.

"Is that an invitation?" His voice was equally low.

She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks, the heat even traveling beneath her gown, making it feel as if it clung to her body. "Quite right," she remarked, sarcastically under her breath. "Then Granny will faint, Carson may as well, and Mama will lock me in my room until I'm 30."

"Perhaps your mother would lock us up together," he rasped.

"Why not? They've all been wanting to since the moment you arrived here."

"They're not the only ones." He glanced significantly at her.

Her cheeks flamed with the implication. "Indeed, they're not."

"In the army, we learned to remove stains," he practically grunted, "like the one on your beautiful gown. Of course…" He let the words hang in the air a moment before continuing, "I'd have to remove your gown first."

"Did they teach you that in the army, as well?"

Now he appeared to be chuckling softly, the vibrations of his laughter thrumming against her skin. "Having ripped through barbed wire, I can't say your pretty dress would present much of a challenge."

The images wouldn't stop. She felt flattered and frustrated all at once. "That's how they teach you to remove stains in the army? Really, Matthew – that's not how we civilians do it." The words left her mouth before she could process their meaning, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

She felt his breath on her cheek, against her neck. He was so close…how had he gotten so close so quickly? "Believe me, Mary – tearing off your beautiful gown would be the civilian way of…doing it." Now his mouth was nearer to her ear, almost a guttural growl. "Otherwise, I'd simply say I want to fuck you on the side of the bed tonight."

Inhaling sharply as her eyes grew larger, she turned to look at him – the impact of his words and the visceral, raw lust behind them shocking her with intrigue.

"A civilian would say that sounds an awful lot like a proposal," she managed on a hoarse gasp. Before he could answer, she added, "As in I _propose_ that you carry me over your shoulder like a naughty schoolgirl."

"I _propose_ to penetrate you on the edge of your sleeping quarters this evening."

Again, she seemed to be struggling to breathe. "…Who says we'll make it to my sleeping quarters?" Her words had practically lost the ability for sound behind them – like she was mouthing them and he was divining their meaning simply by being so near to her, she could breathe him in. "…If your goal is…_efficiency._" Daringly, she emphasized the last word.

Now she could feel his words practically in her hair and she had to fight to keep her eyes from fluttering shut. "_Lady_ Mary…I will have you in your locked room, in, on or under your bed, on the floor, against that wall, out in the corridor in front of the servants, and I will be as…_in_efficient as possible."

Involuntarily, her eyelids closed – and for a moment, all she could hear was their shared breathing. Her face felt as if it was on fire, her mouth was dry, her palms (among other parts of her) were wet and….there was a hand on her arm.

She very nearly jumped – her nerves afire, her heartbeat hammering in her ears, practically panting as she opened her eyes to find a very confused Sybil staring at her.

"Mary…didn't you hear? We're going through now. Goodness, are you alright? What happened to your dress?"

Blinking rapidly, like she was trying to awaken from a dream, she glanced over to find the chair next to her empty. She shook her head, trying to clear it, knowing she hadn't just imagined…all that. But if there was nobody left at the table…

"Yes," she answered, haphazardly – her voice sounding rather more like a squeak. "Fine. Er…it's fine. Thank you, darling. I'll be right behind you."

Sybil looked slightly bewildered, but only nodded as she got up and left the room.

Mary let out a long sigh, wondering at what had just happened. She waited until her heart rate had slowed a bit, and she could breathe more normally. Experimentally, she rubbed her lips together to moisten them – the better to form coherent speech.

Pushing away from the table, she rose – taking only a moment to acclimate herself to standing once again. Once she was sure enough that she could walk, she made her way to the door—

"Tell them you have to have that stain treated." Her shoulder came within inches of brushing against his chest, but she froze mid-step. At this point, any inadvertent contact might cause her to lose her footing entirely.

She did not look at him. "I'll bring the grapes, you fetch some wine."

"I feel like I should salute you."

"Aren't you?" she smirked, looking sideways and making a show of pretending to glance downward. She could see nothing of course, but he need not know that.

"I can't assure you that pretty gown will remain intact." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he spoke.

Her voice dropped to almost inaudible levels. "Promise?" She glanced around the corner. "The music room. Nobody ever uses it."

"Well, that's rather _efficient_." His words were laced with an obvious smirk. "No bed, of course, so the side of the piano will have to do."

"How well you adapt, soldier! You did learn some useful skills in the army, then," she pretended to marvel quietly. "And language."

"Would it shock you to learn I was a language specialist?"

She smiled in anticipation. "Not in the slightest."

The End.


End file.
